i.

“irfan agreed to my offer to duet.”

reandra's smile blossoms might and wide. you see the way his eyes twinkle, a constellation of stars—but they’re not stars. they're lightning in broad daylight. just bright enough. just secretive enough.

the news does startle you, but like the dumbass kid you are right away you think that perhaps there really is no use in doubting reandra. he always finds a way to commence his whims. who's this irfan irfan guy he talks of you don’t actually really know about, too; he’s the son of a famous judge, yes, reandra did tell you, and he’s also the vocalist of zaman reaksi—the up-and-coming next biggest thing band, one that reandra keeps following in silence, the one fronted by gewang—now he changed his name again to baluka—yes, whoever the fuck are these people that reandra tirelessly speak of to you. as if veneration. as if a desire of reproduction. belis kekasih, reandra said, on its own time (one day, who knows when), will be like that, too. it will be big, will be influential.

you only move your brow slightly. “when?”

“it'll be wild.” reandra doesn’t answer. ”god damn, it’ll be riotous! fuck, it’s insane. so fucking insane. you don’t even know—irfan’s actually so fucking cool.” his eyes fixated on you, blazing. pouncing. “i know you’re sick of me going on and on and on about freire—“ (you think to yourself, am i?) “—even cacuk gets tired sometimes. but irfan’s so fain! we really do see eye to eye on the matter—“ (so it’s important to understand such things?) “—and even in debates he still retains his groove, no real tension whatsoever. fucking respect. i'd thought the kid’s stuck up. if we talk all night long, if it’s with him i think that’s much fun.”

reandra chatters like a nestling learns to chirp. nananini irfan this irfan that, yeah we’ll duet this and that, should we go with titik nol or air? who should join in? me? ah, he should, our stage would go bonkers, haha! you listen in silence. whatever may ripple through your heart; apprehension, reservation, puzzlement. reticence. delight. uncertainty.

(lesson number one: admiration is no less a double-edged sword.)

ii.

not long after reandra got out of jail, who knows for how many times now, irfan sends him a bouquet of snacks. one box card. congrats. so glad. long live. reandra reads it no more than half a minute before he throws it to the table and tears open a pack of chocolate from the bouquet.

“what does he know, that young master,” jeers reandra, munching on the chocolate. “big talk, excessive barking.”

you stare at him incredulously. “kan you said he’s cool? he gets what you talk about?”

reandra laughs sarcastically. “gets what i talk about. people like him won’t even get caught even if he goes marching. if he goes.” he smirks at you. “don't you see where he is right now?”

you did. irfan's abroad right now, at france. riding on his private jet. a holiday, or something.

“but," you say again, still trying to grasp what exactly is reandra grousing of. because it doesn’t make sense. very little of it does. “kan you said he also spoke up when it happened? at the height of the moment?”

“took him long enough to speak.” he scoffs. “’s just another charade.” reandra continues on munching without sparing you any more attention.

(lesson number two: nothing is more arbitrary than a human’s heart.)

iii.

you took on the offer because, ya, it was interesting and flattering, but there’s another thought that you always dismiss—irfan thinks of me as a friend.

a friend? you're already mature enough to be cynical, to understand that things like friends might not even bear any worth to someone like irfan. it is not a compliment. friend can mean many things to such people. only somewhere in your mind it rings that you are now in a band with them, with irfan ma’arif and st. baluka of zaman reaksi, with aria sindu of pekat saribu gulung, yes, indeed, you all are in the same band. these same people reandra used to talk of highly to you so long ago; when red was the dawn and fresh was the morning.

yeah yeah of course it actually is entirely rational that irfan ropes you in; he’s the vocalist. now he’s a guitarist, too, but above all a vocalist. and rarely if ever do vocalists able to share the stage on and on and on and on—continuously. he's the vocalist and he needs no other vocalist, what he needs is the drummer. so it goes that seto limar comes in and who knows what’s reandra up to now. if he’s even still alive.

the band is nothing more than a playing band. which means they only band together to make music and play it; no other overaching goal. perhaps there exists a deeper bond between uka and irfan, though it never cease to baffle you how mutual understanding can bud in between derision and tension and sometimes light contention. but not between between you and them. such thing is nonexistent. what it means is that there lies nothing that may assuage and comfort you and what yearning it brings forth so much so you’re losing your mind sometimes like in belis kekasih back then. banal stuffs. horsing around. gossiping. nonsensical quarrell everyone forgot about the next minute. well they do come up sometimes, between you and them, but irfan might not think of you as a friend and you always try your best to respect that, so you don’t really push back much whenever your elbows rub. and uka is the ismail baluka. only insane fools would even try anything with him. (insane fools like reandra arya?)

ari. well. you don’t quite know her. belis kekasih and pekat saribu gulung didn’t come into contact much back then, so nowadays you two spend your time just getting to know each other, and, yeah, it’s casual, nothing of note.

irfan had told you once, you’re one of the best drummers in our scene now. in my opinion. don't take uka too seriously. making songs are hard, but if you ever have something well just come try it out with me. far before reandra said to you that irfan is a good person who isn’t good at all. you did not, like many things he spewed, understand. that empty consolation only reaches out to you long long after.

you laugh and laugh and laugh. inside. yea. haha. i am quite good after all. reandra? still below irfan. vocals and guitar—especially guitar.

you are all in the same band. empireroar goes on with such fundamentals.

(lesson number three: fiends like reandra are much purer a messenger than any children of god as irfan—ah, seto, look into the mirror and guess who you are and who has filled your eyes? lies in every hearts of man bitter rottenness. you never win in such devil games. latch onto a serpent and you will become one as well.)

13 February 2023 — 20:23.